


Just Some Stupid Kid

by YourCupofCoffee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Irondad, Nightmares, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sickfic, Tony Stark is trying his best, Vomiting, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 04:25:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16381343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YourCupofCoffee/pseuds/YourCupofCoffee
Summary: Peter tries to survive training with the Avengers while having the flu because he has the self preservation of a house fly. When things finally go wrong, Tony comes to his rescue and does his best to care for a sick kid all by himself.





	Just Some Stupid Kid

“-like three thousand pieces. It’s insane.” Ned stopped shuffling books into his backpack from the locker when he saw Peter lean heavily on the wall beside him with his eyes closed. “I'm not gonna lie, you look terrible, man.”

 

“I know,” Peter mumbled, rubbing his eye with his knuckle. “Just didn’t get much sleep last night is all.” 

 

It wasn’t really a lie. Peter hadn’t slept much at all the night before, but he decided to omit the chills and sweating that had coupled with the insomnia. Everything had felt so hot and so cold at the same time that he almost woke up May, but decided not to. She’d been picking up longer shifts at the hospital, and Peter knew that she needed the sleep. None of the medicine they had would work on him anyway. 

  
  


He was pretty sure Ned had been talking about some Lego set, but his friend’s words had been drowned out by the pounding in his head. Peter leaned the side of his head against a metal locker, relishing the temporary coolness it brought to his temple. His head was pounding; it had started as a slight headache in biology, and now it felt like it was nearing a migraine. He’d downed like six aspirins at lunch, but it didn’t do much for his headache or anything else for that matter.

 

“Whatever you say, dude,” Ned said, sliding the last of his things into his bag. Peter could tell that Ned didn’t believe him, but he couldn’t muster the energy to care. “Wait, Peter, don't you have that thing,” Ned extended his neck and looked around for any eavesdroppers.  _ “With the Avengers?”  _ He whispered scandalously, excitement already spreading across his eager face.

 

Oh crap. Ned was right, Tony had called him on Tuesday and invited him to train with the team. He had been ecstatic, and still couldn't believe that May was allowing it, but he had forgotten all about it after suffering through a whole day of classes feeling like he was going to hurl. That meant that Happy was waiting outside in front of the school for him, probably annoyed that he was taking so long. 

 

“Oh, uh, yeah I do. I should probably go, Happy is gonna kill me if I don't hurry up.”

 

“Alright, at least let me walk out with you one last time. I know you'll probably forget about a lowly peasant such as myself now that you're practically an Avenger,” Ned mock bowed after stuffing everything in his bag and slamming his locker.

 

“Shut up, man,” Peter smiled. “You know you'll always be my guy in the chair.”

 

“And I'm honored. Oh! Peter, what do you think you'll have to do today? How sick would that be if Captain America benched like a thousand pounds? I bet he could, have you seen the biceps on that guy? This is gonna be so cool…” Peter smiled while his best friend continued to chatter away as they walked toward the front of the school, content to just listen. It was always amusing how excited Ned got about all this stuff, not that he wasn't starstruck half the time himself. Peter decided he would have to see if Mr. Stark would let Ned watch them train sometime; if that happened, Peter was like ninety five percent sure his friend would combust.

 

Just as Peter imagined, Happy's black SUV was parked in front of the school and his impatience was written all over his face, or at least as much of his face that Peter could see around the black shades. He swallowed thickly, Peter was glad he had Ned for company to distract him, but now he was reminded of the heaviness of his stomach and his throbbing temples.

 

“Alright, I'll see you later, Ned,” Peter smiled weakly, shrugging his sore shoulder under his backpack.

 

“Are you sure you're okay? You look like you're gonna hurl,” Ned said, his smile faltered and his concern became all too evident. Peter's throat tightened, and he brought a fist to his mouth.

 

“Please, don’t say that word,” he breathed.

 

“Sor-” Ned was cut off by a long horn blast from the black car.

 

“C'mon, kid, let's get a move on! I don’t have all day, and I'm  _ not _ your chauffeur,” Happy yelled through the passenger window he had rolled down.

 

“Technically he kinda is…” Ned whispered, with a grin on his face. “‘Kay bye, Peter. Good luck!” 

 

“Thanks,” Peter called over his shoulder as he trudged toward the car. He wished he could just go home and sleep this all off, but instead Peter pulled the back door open, and sluggishly slid himself into the leather seat.

 

“What took you so long, kid? I was tempted to just leave you here,” Happy said crossly as he pulled away from the curb. Peter leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes, wishing all of the heat from his face would go into the glass. 

“Sorry. I guess I was just walking slow,” he mumbled, cringing at himself starting to sweat. 

 

“Are you hungover, or something? What’s the matter with you?” Peter opened his eyes to see Happy scrutinizing him in the rearview mirror.

 

“Nothing. I’m just tired. I’m gonna try to take a nap on the way.” 

 

Peter closed his eyes again, and tried to let himself drift off to the steady humming of the car, but couldn’t. Peter felt exhausted and everything was aching, but his body refused to succumb to sleep. The ham sandwich he’d choked down during lunch sat heavily in his stomach, and made him regret eating anything at all. A sickly wave of heat washed over him, and the overpowering smell of new leather made Peter’s stomach clench slightly. Peter grabbed the water bottle out of his bag and sipped at it tentatively, hoping it would settle his stomach enough to at least last the car ride. He didn’t even want to think about how Happy would react if he puked all over the pristine leather interior. The man would probably never give him a ride again. 

 

Thankfully, the water seemed to do the trick for the moment, so Peter put the bottle away and returned to his position up against the glass. Frankly, he didn’t know how he was going to make it through the afternoon. If this was just another day for him and Mr. Stark to work on some tech, then Peter would have told him he wasn’t feeling well, but he had been invited to train with the freaking Avengers. Peter could practically hear May’s disapproving voice telling him that he should just go home and rest, but what if  Mr. Stark didn’t invite him again? He swallowed thickly as his stomach cramped. He could do this, he was Spiderman, and Spiderman doesn’t take sick days. Besides, Peter figured, his healing factor was probably taking care of whatever this was anyway.

 

Thirty minutes later, Happy pulled up to the front of the tower and shut the car off.

 

“Wake up, kid. We’re here.” Peter opened his eyes and didn’t say anything, even though he hadn't fallen asleep in the first place. He slid out of the car, and had to steady himself when his head started to swim.

 

_ I can do this. I’m Spiderman. I can do this. _

 

“Quit lollygagging. You’re the reason we’re late.” Peter breathed deeply, and forced himself to follow Happy up the front steps. The man walked briskly ahead of him, and Peter did his best to keep up. When they made it into the elevator, Peter could feel himself starting to sway slightly so he grabbed one of the steel handrails. He caught sight of his reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator, and cringed. His face was pale, and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than they usually were. The sweat on his forehead had plastered most of his bangs to his forehead. Peter ran his fingers through his hair to unstick it from his face, and tried to look as normal as possible. When the elevator doors slid open, Peter could see several of the avengers sparring one another in street clothes. He stared in awe as Natasha and Steve exchanged blows, each of them blocking the other’s strikes and returning their own just as quickly. She must have sensed something, because Natasha suddenly feigned a punch before ducking suddenly and hooking her leg behind Steve’s and sending him sprawling to the ground.

 

“Whoa…” Peter breathed. She had just beaten freaking Captain America in hand-to-hand combat. That was one of the most badass things Peter had ever seen.

 

“C’mon, kid.” Happy ushered him out of the elevator, and toward what looked to be a locker room. “Go get changed, and join them. Tony left you some clothes, and stuff in your locker. I’ll be back to take you home later.” He got his own locker? If Peter didn’t feel so shitty, this would have been one of the coolest days of his life. He didn’t waste any time finding his locker and changing into the t-shirt and basketball shorts. Now that he was alone, Peter audibly groaned and put his head into his hands. The nausea was creeping back, and the headache still hammering away at his skull. 

 

Peter shuffled over to one of the sinks and turned the chrome handle, splashing some cool water in his face. It felt amazing and, frankly, Peter wished he could just stand there the whole afternoon enjoying the relief the water brought his burning skin, but he knew everyone was waiting for him. The last thing Peter wanted was for Mr. Stark to come looking for him, and realize that he was too sick to train. Shaking slightly from the effort to stay standing, Peter took a deep breath and steeled himself. If he could lift a ton of concrete off himself, then he could do this. 

 

Peter left the locker room and approached the group on the thick matted floor with a brave face. He recognized most of them; Steve and Natasha were still sparring, Clint was sitting on the floor stretching with Wanda (at least Peter was pretty sure that was her name), and even Mr. Stark was there drinking a bottle of water. It was weird to see him wearing anything other than a suit, metal or not. Mr. Stark looked at him strangely, and Peter knew the gig was up, but before the man could open his mouth, a loud voice rang out from behind him, making Peter jump.

 

“Match up into pairs. It’s time to get this party started.”

 

* * *

Peter was standing unsteadily on the mat, willing his lunch to stay where it was. They had all been sparring one another for the past hour, changing partners every thirty minutes. He could feel Mr. Stark’s scrutinizing gaze from across the room, but thankfully they hadn’t been paired up together yet. First he had gotten matched up with Clint, which hadn’t been too bad considering neither of them were used to fighting hand to hand. They both landed a decent number of punches, and Peter had even managed to get him into a chokehold until he tapped. He had used most of his energy on that round, and Clint continued to beat him every time after that. Peter didn’t care though, he was just doing his best not to collapse. He was sweating buckets, and he knew that it had nothing to do with the exercise. It felt so hot in the room, Peter could have sworn the heater was on, but when he looked around the others were slightly damp at the most. Peter was pretty sure Natasha hadn’t even broken a sweat yet.

 

Natasha had been his next partner, and it went about as well as Peter expected. She was so much quicker than him, and even with his spidey senses, Peter was just barely able to block half of her strikes, the rest of them slipping past his defenses easily. His one success against Natasha came when she leapt into the air, aiming a roundhouse kick at Peter’s face. He’d managed to duck in time and, in a moment of clarity, saw her about to land on the mat with her left foot. As soon as her toes touched the floor, Peter swept his leg and hit her left foot with his shin before all of her weight could settle steadily. The result was her falling hard on her back, knocking the wind out of her. Peter felt the whole room stop, and stare in shock at Natasha being bested.

 

“I- I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-” Peter hurried over a offered her his hand.

 

“Don’t apologize.” She cut him off, and smiled. “About time someone was able to knock me down. I was getting bored.” She took his hand, and got up. The redhead’s eyes narrowed when she saw Steve attempting, and failing, to stop the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What are you smirking at Rogers? I had you on your ass in half the time.” The room chuckled, and Steve snorted.

 

“I wish you were wrong.”

 

Now Peter was shifting his weight uneasily as his stomach started to roll. He had just barely gotten through sparring with Clint and Natasha, but now things were really starting to go wrong. If Fury didn’t give them a break soon, Peter wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to keep up. The dull headache had turned into a sharp jabbing behind his eyes, and the bright fluorescent lighting was only making things worse. Most of the dizziness had gone away when Peter splashed himself with the water, but now it was creeping back with a vengeance, bringing the nausea along with it. Now, Peter wished that Mr. Stark had stopped him from training, stopped him from feeling all of this pain. Another rush of heat covered Peter’s body, and sent saliva pooling in his mouth; he resisted the urge to spit it out on the floor. Peter missed his mask, if he had it, he wouldn't have to hide the misery on his face from everyone else.

 

Steve stood in front of him, fists already raised and stance set. Sweat had long since soaked through Peter's t-shirt, and was clinging to his chilled skin. Suddenly, Steve lunged forward and Peter just barely dodged a right-hook, but couldn’t escape the strong arm that wrapped around his midsection and tackled him to the ground. The impact jarred his stomach, and it contracted. He swallowed thickly, trying to prevent the inevitable. 

 

“Steve, I-I need a break,” Peter said shallowly, trying to get his stomach to wait a few seconds longer.

 

“Nonsense, we just started.” Steve got up and pulled Peter to his feet. “You’re young, you’ll be fine. Worry about old timers like me.” Peter managed to stifle a wet burp, and thankfully nothing came up. He could feel acid starting to creep up his throat and his mouth started to taste like the ham sandwich he'd choked down earlier.

 

“But, Steve I reall-” 

 

“Get your arms up, lets go. You think the next Hydra is going to take it easy on you just because you're a kid? If you want to train with us, then you need to be able to keep up.” Peter stole a glance at Mr. Stark, who was getting up from being knocked on his ass by Natasha. He met eyes with Peter, and gave him a questioning look, evidently having heard what Steve had said. Mr. Stark frowned and fiddled with his watch, and spoke into it. Peter could only make out the words “FRIDAY" and “scan" before he realised Steve was still standing there expectantly.  Swallowing the seemingly endless pool of saliva again, he put his arms up weakly.

 

Steve didn’t hesitate and lunged again, this time aiming directly for Peter’s face. He brought both arms up to block it, but realised his mistake too late. Bringing both arms toward his face, left his body wide open and Steve acted quickly, punching him solidly in the stomach and sending him to his knees. Peter didn’t even have the time to register what had happened before his stomach seized and made him gag. The hand pressed firmly to his lips did nothing to stop the vomit from splattering onto the floor and all over Steve’s shoes.

 

“What the hell-” Peter cringed at the disgust in the man’s voice as he jumped backwards. He only managed to take a few breaths before he was retching again, covering the ground with more vomit. 

 

“You hit him too hard!”

 

“Nice going, Cap’.”

 

“He did tell you-”

 

Peter could hear the others talking, but tried to block the words out. They only confirmed that this was really happening. He had just  _ barfed _ on Captain America’s shoes. He closed his eyes, unable to look at is lunch decorating the thick, black mat covering the floor. Peter burped wetly, and spit onto the floor, trying to ignore the mess he had made of his clothes as well. Tears began welling in his eyes, this was so humiliating and he felt so weak Peter thought he was going to collapse. He flinched when a pair of steady hands grasped his shaking shoulders.

 

“Easy, I got you, kid. It’s alright.” His face burned even more when he realised it was Mr. Stark who had appeared beside him. The gentleness in his idol's voice made him want to weep, and several tears escaped. His body tensed, and he retched again, bringing up the last of his food. The man didn't loosen his grip, instead he rubbed Peter’s back with his free hand. He heard the others murmuring sympathetically and Peter couldn’t hold back the sob that tore from his throat, and he pressed his hand to his mouth as he felt his face crumple. He had just puked in front of the  _ Avengers, _ and now he was about to cry in front of them too. 

 

“Think you're done?” Tony asked quietly so only Peter could hear. He sniffled and nodded. He kept his eyes trained on the floor, knowing that everyone in the room was staring at him, and probably regretting inviting him in the first place. “I’m going to help you up, okay?” 

 

“But what i-if some of it gets on you?” 

 

“Not a big deal, kid. Now shut up, and let me help you,” He said not unkindly. Peter stayed quiet, knowing that he’d burst into tears if he tried to say anything else. Peter leaned heavily on him, grimacing when he saw some of the vomit on his shirt smear onto Tony’s.

 

“Oh, and Rogers? Why don’t you clean that up while you’re at it. That's what you get for not listening to the kid,” He said sarcastically, before leading Peter toward the elevator. He hit the button, before adjusting his grip on Peter and walking inside. As soon as the doors had closed, Peter whimpered and hastily wiped the few tears that had managed to escape.

 

“Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.” Peter wrapped an arm around his stomach as a sharp pain shot through it. Weren’t you supposed to feel better after puking your brains out?

 

“I bet you don’t. I can’t say I’m really surprised, kid. You looked like you were going to hurl when you first walked in. I didn’t think you’d last as long as you did.” The doors opened again to the residential floor where everyone’s rooms were, and Peter let the man lead him to an empty one. He helped Peter sit on the bed, and pressed the back of his hand to Peter's forehead.

 

“Yeah, that's what I thought. Come on, let's get you out of these clothes.” Tony helped Peter out of his shirt, which had taken the brunt of the damage, and then the shorts, leaving Peter in his boxers. 

 

“I'm f-freezing,” Peter shivered violently, but he was also still sweating like he’d just ran a marathon. How did that even make any sense? 

 

“Your temperature says otherwise, kid. I'm gonna go grab you a pair of my pajamas. They should fit alright, I think.” Tony wadded up the soiled clothing and left the room. “FRIDAY, monitor Peter while he’s here, and notify me of any changes,” Tony's voice rang out from the hallway. 

 

Peter drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, trying to keep the chill away. He let his eyes slip shut and lowered his head, the pounding behind his eyes seemed to only be getting worse. Guilt began to writhe in Peter's stomach; he shouldn't have come. Not only had he puked everywhere, interrupting everyone's training and leaving Steve to clean it up, but now Mr. Stark had to take care of him too. Hell, the man was going to get him  _ his _ pajamas to wear. That's it, Peter decided, he wasn't going to lay around and take advantage of Mr. Stark’s hospitality. If he was careful, he could probably go get his clothes from the locker downstairs and have Happy take him home. Peter could handle it himself like he always did, and even if none of their medicine worked, he could put on a brave face and tell May he was feeling better already.

 

Peter untucked his knees and threw his legs over the side of the bed, before slowly standing. He shot a hand out to the wall when the room suddenly tilted, and the effort had already made him sweat more. Peter took a shaky breath, his body felt like it was made of lead and there was nothing he wanted more than to collapse back into the bed, but he clenched his jaw and dragged himself toward the door. Peter was nearly there when he heard Mr. Stark walking down the hall towards the room.

 

“Sorry it took so long, I wasn't sure which ones would work-” he looked up from the fancy looking pajamas and was startled to a stop, nearly crashing into Peter. “Kid, why the hell are you up? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” 

 

“I'm gonna have Happy t-take me h-home. Thank you, really, but I'll b-be okay,” Peter said, teeth chattering as he shivered violently. He could tell that Mr. Stark wasn’t buying it. Well it was worth a shot.

 

“Peter, you can hardly stand let alone walk.”

 

“But you don't have to do all this. I'm fine, Mr. Stark, really, I can just take some Tylenol when I get home.” 

 

“You and I both know that won't do a thing for you. Sorry, kid, but I'm pulling the adult card here, so get your butt back in that bed before I get a pair of Pepper’s pajamas for you instead. She has these cute little shorts-”

 

“Alright, alright.” Peter put up the hand not supporting himself against the wall in surrender. He moved to push himself off the wall, but swayed dangerously and quickly leaned back against the tan paint. 

 

“Need some help back, kid?” Tony asked, a hint of amusement seeping into his voice. Peter felt himself redden as he nodded, he should be able to do this. He hated how weak he felt. 

 

Tony tossed the pajamas onto the bed, and wrapped a firm arm around Peter's waist, bearing most of the teen's weight. When Peter was sitting on top of the comforter, he grabbed the pajamas and almost dropped them out of fear of ruining them. They were the silkiest things he’d ever felt, and Peter didn't even want to think about how much they must cost. They were a deep blue with shiny gold buttons, and the name “Stark” was embroidered on the shirt's breast.  

 

“Do you have anything else?” Tony raised an eyebrow, and Peter frantically added, “I-I mean I just don't want to mess these up if I…”

 

“Washing machines exist for a reason, kid. And don't worry about it, heck you can keep them if you want.” 

 

Peter didn’t say anything as he slipped the shirt on, and did up the buttons. When he finally pulled the bottoms up, he flopped back in bed from the effort. This was what Peter hated the most about being sick, the weakness seemed to permeate his entire body and he was unable to do anything about it. Peter heard Mr. Stark open a white medicine cabinet in the small bathroom attached to the bedroom and rifle through it.

 

“Thanks Mr. Stark, but you know that stuff doesn’t work for me,” Peter gasped out, recovering from his struggle with the pajamas. 

 

“Yeah, maybe that whimpy civilian stuff, but luckily Bruce engineered some much stronger meds for Cap’ before he went MIA. Since your metabolism is about as high, these should work fine.” Mr. Stark walked into the room with a white bottle, and popped it open. Peter froze, suddenly conscious of everything he was touching, and sweating on.

 

“Wait, is this Steve’s room?”

 

“Try not to give yourself a heart attack, Underoos. No it isn’t, Banner decided to stock all of the rooms with these type of meds in case others with the same kind of abilities joined the team.” Mr. Stark shook a few pills into the palm of his hand. “Though with the way he was talking to you earlier, I’d say he deserves a sick kid to sweat through his sheets.” 

 

Peter accepted the green gel capsules from Mr. Stark, and took them with a sip of water from a glass on the nightstand.

 

“Speaking of which, why did you show up to training today? A simple ‘Hey Happy, I don’t feel so good, please take me home’ would have prevented all of this, but no instead you decide to participate in vigorous exercise.” 

 

“I-I didn’t want to miss training with you guys. I didn’t want them to think I was just some stupid kid who can’t handle a bit of a cold. Steve was right, I have to be able to keep up with you guys.”

 

“ _ A bit of a cold? _ Pete, you probably have the flu, considering you're running a fever and blew chunks all over Cap's shoes. Nice one, by the way.” Tony put the bottle back in the cabinet and walked back to the bed with his arms crossed. “And you don’t want them to think you’re a kid? Then why didn’t you say you were feeling sick? Stupid kids keep going even when they’re not okay, and drive themselves into the ground. It takes an adult to recognize that they’re not okay, and need to stop.” The hypocrisy of the statement did not go over Tony's head, but he chose to ignore it for the time being.

 

“But Steve said-”

 

“I don’t care what Rogers said, he didn’t know you were sick. You should have called me, or told Happy that you were sick, not push yourself until you physically collapse. And if you didn’t notice, you  _ were _ keeping up with us, you were the only one who knocked Nat on her ass and the rest of us are healthy.”

 

“But-”

 

“No, this is where you shut it, the adult is talking,” Peter cringed at the irritation in Mr. Stark’s voice. “You should have stayed home today.”

 

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, he knew he needed to calm down, if he let his voice get any louder he would be yelling at the kid, and Peter didn’t need that right now. His thoughts were confirmed when he saw the tears beginning to pool in the kid’s eyes.

 

“I d-didn’t want to miss out training with everyone. I thought you weren’t going to invite me back,” Peter sniffled.

 

“Kid, I would have understood. Everyone would have. I’m glad you take this so seriously, but you can’t keep throwing self preservation to the wind, it’s too dangerous. What if you had actually gotten hurt? How do you think I could explain that to May?” The kid looked down, and nodded.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Tony cleared his throat, “Right, those pills should knock you out soon so get some sleep. I’m gonna go back downstairs, if you need something have FRIDAY alert me.” Tony walked out before the kid could say anything else, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that he had nearly made the kid cry. Peter needed the talking to though, he decided. Tony wasn't about to let him continue down the same self destructive path, the kid was better than that. 

 

When he got to the floor's communal kitchen, Tony pulled out his phone and dialed the one number he hoped he wouldn't have to today. 

 

“Hello?”

 

“May, it's Tony.”

 

“What happened to him? I knew I shouldn't have let you talk me into this! I'm driving down right now and-”

 

“Whoa whoa whoa, May calm down. Peter's fine, well I mean, not  _ fine _ per say, but it wasn't the training or anything.” 

 

“Okay, then what's wrong? Is he okay?”

 

“Peter's sick, I don't know if he caught a bug or something, but he threw up so I wanted to let him rest here for the night, maybe the weekend, if you're okay with it.”

 

“But...I thought he couldn't get sick, you know with the whole-”

 

“I know, I didn't think he could either, but don't worry I gave him some medicine that will actually work for him. We have a fully equipped medbay, so he'll be taken care of.”

 

“Of course Peter can stay, I know he doesn't get enough rest as it is. And actually work? Are you telling me that none of my stuff does anything for his migraines?”

 

“No, his metabolism is too high.”

 

“I should have known,” May sighed. “He always puts on a brave face for me.” She paused, and Tony let the silence continue until she spoke up again. “Would you mind sending Peter home with some of that medicine? I just want him out of pain.”

 

“Sure thing, May. Just make sure you don't accidentally take any, it'll probably knock you out for a solid twenty four hours.”

 

“Thanks, Tony. Thank you for everything.” May said sincerely. Her voice quickly returned to the stern tone Tony was used to. “But you remember that the  _ only _ reason that I'm letting him do this is so you train him how to do all of this the right way. If I have any reason to think that you no longer have his best interests in mind, I will not hesitate to revoke my permission for him to be involved at all. Do you understand?” Tony smiled to himself, he pitied anyone who got on the wrong side of May Parker. 

 

“Of course.” Tony switched his phone to his other ear. “You should have seen him today, May. Peter knocked Nat- I mean the Black Widow flat on her butt today,  _ with the flu _ . He did so well, you should come down sometime and watch.”

 

Tony leaned against the kitchen counter, trying not to laugh at May's scandalized responses. Laughing that she'd probably try to strangle someone for knocking her baby down. He decided that he would definitely pay good money to see May have a go at Steve Rogers.

 

* * *

Tony’s eyes snapped open in the dark room as he laid in his bed. He wasn't sure what had woken him, but something felt off. His nerves were always on high alert, years of fighting in life or death situations did that to a person. Tony rolled over in his large bed, its vastness seemingly amplified by Pepper’s absence. Why did she have to be away on a trip the weekend that he got strapped with a sick kid? As soon as the thought crossed his mind, his AI’s voice permeated the room.

 

“Mr. Stark, there appears to be an issue with Mr. Parker. He seems to be in a great deal of distress,” FRIDAY said. Tony immediately sat up, and threw the blankets off of himself; thankfully he was already wearing pajamas so he didn't have to scramble for a robe.

 

“What's happening, did he throw up or something?” Tony asked as he walked quicker than he cared to admit down the hall. 

 

“No, but his temperature and heart rate are rising. Mr. Parker appears to be trying to speak, but I'm not sure.” Tony rapidly pushed the button several times, cursing the elevator’s speed. Why didn't he just put the kid in one of the empty rooms on this floor? 

 

“FRIDAY, make this damn elevator hurry it up.”

 

“On it.” 

 

When the doors finally slid open, Tony hurried inside and impatiently hit the button several times. His pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, it had to be around three in the morning. It didn't help that he had gone to bed only two hours earlier. The elevator finally arrived at the kid's floor, and Tony hurried to his room. He could hear Peter's panicked voice as Tony pushed the door open, and flicked on the lights.

 

“No...please someone help. I'm stuck- I'm- I can't-” 

 

Peter's face was scrunched up and incredibly pale, a sheen of sweat covering his face. He was obviously having a nightmare, and whatever it was about was terrifying. Peter had tears running down his face and his shallow breaths were coming in rapid bursts, almost like he was suffocating. Tony hurried over to his bedside and grasped his shoulder, shaking him.

 

“Kid, wake up. Come on, Pete, wake up. You're having a nightmare.”

 

“Please- No-” Peter whimpered, clutching the blankets so tightly his knuckles turned white. The fear in the kid's voice made Tony's heart ache. Why wasn't he waking up?

 

“Peter, c’mon,” Tony said a little firmer, shaking him. “Kid, wake up. I need you to-” Suddenly, Peter's eyes flew open and he gasped, taking in a huge breath.

 

“I can't breathe- Someone, please,” his eyes darted frantically around the room. He tried to sit up, but fell back against the pillows, evidently weaker than he thought.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Underoos. Easy, it's just me.” Recognition sparked in Peter's eyes, and Tony could see his blind panic begin to reside. 

 

“What...what...happened?” Peter asked, his breathing still desperate. 

 

“You had a nightmare, and a pretty intense one from what it looked like.” 

 

“Oh...yeah, that happens sometimes. Sorry I woke you up, I-” Peter shifted underneath the blankets and froze, eyes widening in what Tony could only describe as horror.

 

“Kid, what's wrong?” Peter looked down and back up at Tony before averting his gaze again, face turning bright red. “Kid?” Tony stepped closer when Peter didn't respond, worry suddenly gnawing at him.

 

“I-I’m really sorry, Mr. Stark- Oh my god, I can't believe I-”

 

“Peter, what's the matter?” The question only made the kid's blush darken, and, to Tony's horror, tears began welling in his eyes again. When the first tear slipped down his face, Tony sighed, and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. Peter had hid his face in his hands, but when he felt the bed dip under Tony's weight his head snapped up.

 

“No, don't!” 

 

The panic in his voice sent Tony's heart beating faster than it already was, and he jumped back up from the bed.

 

“You gotta help me out here, kid. If I don't know what's wrong I can't do anything to fix it.” Peter looked down at his lap and tears began to dot his blanket.

 

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to- I shouldn't have stayed last night- I-I-” Tony put a firm hand on Peter's shoulder, and the kid looked up miserably, meeting his eyes.

 

“Peter whatever it is, I'm not mad. I know I probably look like a grouchy old man, but that's just because it's three in the morning,” Tony chuckled slightly, trying to get the kid to relax.

 

“M’just embarrassed,” Peter mumbled, looking down again.

 

“Well I could have told you that, Underoos. You turned about as red as your suit.” Tony breathed a sigh of relief when Peter cracked a smile. “Alright, spill the beans. The longer we're here, the longer we're disrupting that precious Parker beauty sleep.” The smile disappeared on his face and he reddened again. 

 

“Well, I um, m-my shirt was wet when I woke up because I was sweating. And I th-thought that was why everything else felt wet, but- uh, it wasn't.”

 

“I'm not following you here, kid.”

 

“I w-wet your bed,” Peter finally ground out, humiliation all too evident on his face. “And I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I-”

 

“Hold it, Pete, don't get yourself all worked up again. It isn't that big of a deal.”

 

“Not that big of a- Mr. Stark, I'm fifteen! I shouldn't have- I ruined y-your bed, and your pajamas that must cost a fortune.” Tears were rushing down his now flushed face, and Peter didn't try to stop the sob that escaped. “I've been trying so hard to prove that I'm not just some stupid kid, and that I'm good enough. And what did I do? I puke all over  _ Captain America’s shoes,  _ and ruin Ironman’s bed!” He buried his face in his hands again and started sobbing uncontrollably. Tony stood there for an awkward moment, unsure what he should do with himself let alone how to help the kid who seemed inconsolable. Tony tentatively touched the edge of the sheets and sat down at the foot of the bed. He bit the inside of his cheek, if Pepper was here this would be so much easier. Tony would not consider himself good with kids in general, and definitely not crying ones, but this was Peter they were talking about. The kid practically worshipped the ground he walked on, so Tony owed it to Peter to at least try.

 

“Pete, you were always good enough. If you were just ‘some stupid kid’ I wouldn't have given you the suit in the first place. You don't have to try to earn it anymore, that part’s done.” Peter was still crying, but Tony could tell he was listening, as it wasn't as forceful as before. “And no one blames you for getting sick either, if anything Rogers had it coming. He should have listened to you, and if you couldn't tell, everyone else was pissed off at him, not you.” 

 

“But-”

 

“Nope, adult is talking, kiddie. This is where you listen,” Tony said gently. “Like I said, no one was mad, everyone was worried, they thought that Cap’ had seriously hurt you. In fact, I heard Nat gave him quite an ear full.” 

 

“Really?”

 

“Yup, and I do not envy him one bit. As for wetting the bed, it really doesn't matter. Like I said before, washing machines exist, and if it makes you feel any better, everyone on the team has had to deal with it too.” Peter looked up from his hands.

 

“Yeah right,” Peter mumbled, “now you're just saying that to make me feel better.”

 

“Nope, I'm being serious, kid. We may be the Avengers, but we're human, and it would be stupid to think that these missions don't affect us. And from what it sounded like, your nightmare was from a mission.” Peter still looked at him skeptically and Tony rolled his eyes. “Don't believe me? Take off those sheets and you'll find a mattress protector.” He looked down and fidgeted with a loose thread that had freed itself from the blanket’s stitching.

 

“Even you?” Peter asked quietly, maintaining the utmost concentration on the string.

 

“What?”

 

“You said everyone on the team dealt with it. Did you?” Tony sighed, he and Pepper had sworn to take that to the grave, but he could tell that the kid needed to hear that even the great Tony Stark had pissed the bed before.

 

“Yup, I did. I don't know if you followed the news when those alien freaks invaded,” Tony said matter-of-factly, though he knew Peter had. “But I had to fly a nuclear missile into space, fairly certain I was going to die, and then crash landed like some human meteor. So I think it's a little more than to be expected.”

 

“I had a building collapse on me.” Tony drew in a sharp breath, that hadn't been in any of the reports.

 

“When?”

 

“The night I caught the guy trying to rip off your plane. Before that, he knocked out the supports in some kind of concrete warehouse and I got pinned by the debris.” Tony could see the kid's breathing pick up just from talking about it. “I could barely breathe, it felt like I was being crushed. I knew no one was coming for me.” Tony felt a pang of guilt, if he hadn't taken the suit or at least put a tracker in the kid's pajama suit he wouldn't have had to deal with that on his own. “I eventually got myself free, but I'd thought I was going to die. I still get really claustrophobic, even elevators still freak me out a little. It's stupid.”

 

“Holy shit, kid, no it's not stupid. What's stupid is me having to use a nightlight for three months. I'm guessing that's what your nightmare was about?” Peter nodded, wiping the tear tracks off his face. “Well no wonder. Like I said, everyone on the team has done it so congratulations,” Tony knighted him with his hand, tapping him on each shoulder, “You're practically an Avenger.” Peter snorted.

 

“Okay, okay I get it. Now can I, uh, change?” 

 

“Yeah, I put some spare clothes in the dresser for you. I'll be in the hall, when you're done we can go upstairs. There's another room closer to mine, and I'd feel better if you were there. I thought I was going to have a heart attack waiting in that elevator.” Peter nodded and moved to get out of bed. Tony quickly averted his eyes and stepped out of the room, not wanting to embarrass him any further. A couple of minutes passed and Peter didn't come out, so Tony knocked against the wall with his knuckle.

 

“You okay in there?”

 

“Y-yes, Mr. Stark, I j-just feel really light headed.” 

 

“I'm going to come in and help, if you fall and hurt yourself, May will probably kick my ass.” Tony walked in and found Peter sitting on the edge of the bed with the fresh pajamas in his hands, trembling slightly. He did the best he could to keep his eyes averted to preserve as much of the kid's dignity as he could. 

 

“Alright, ready?” Tony asked when Peter was dressed. The kid nodded, so Tony helped him stand and they shuffled out into the hall. Tony frowned when he felt Peter leaning on him more and more.

 

“M'ser S'ark, I think I'm gonna-”

 

“FRIDAY, what's happening?” Tony called out, trying to keep the sudden panic out of his voice.

 

“Mr. Parker’s temperature is rising and he's beginning to pass out.” Tony used his free hand and began slapping Peter's cheek.

 

“Come on, kid. We're almost there, come on Pete.” He had one of Peter's arms around his shoulders and Tony wrapped his right arm around the kid's torso. They stepped into the elevator and Tony cursed the slow thing again.

 

“No...no,” Peter mumbled under his breath.

 

“It's alright, we're almost there.” As they stepped out, Tony felt Peter slump against him completely and stumbled under the sudden weight. The kid was a lot heavier than Tony expected, and he realised he wasn't going to make it to the guest room at the end of the hall. He dragged the kid into the closest bedroom, which was his own. After Tony finally rolled him onto the be, he tiredly ran a hand down his face. This was not how he imagined his Friday night would go.

 

“FRIDAY, do I need to get him to the medbay?” 

 

“I do not think that is necessary. His body temperature is 102.4 degrees and appears to have stabilized.”

 

“Okay, good.” Tony pulled his blankets out from under Peter and laid them on top of him so he wouldn't get chilled. The kid's eyes opened slightly, a bit dazed and obviously out of it.

 

“M'ser S'ark?” Pete slurred, and tried to move. Tony put his hand on the kid's shoulder to stop him from getting up.

 

“Just sleep, kid. You need the rest.” Peter nodded and let his eyes drift shut. Tony removed his hand, and turned to catch a few hours of sleep in one of the guest rooms, but Peter stopped him.

 

“Mis'er Stark?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Can you stay?” The question caught Tony off guard, not completely sure why Peter would want him to watch him sleep. Then he was reminded of the kid's nightmare, and that fear on his face. Yes, he was definitely going to stay. Even if it meant sleeping on the floor.

 

“Yeah, I can do that kiddo. I'll be here all night.”

 

“Promise?” Peter asked, eyes still closed.

 

“Promise.”

 

* * *

Peter cracked his eyes open as sunlight began to warm his face. He squinted and rubbed his eyes with his knuckle. His headache was gone, but his body still felt heavy and his throat was raw. Usually his migraines tormented him all night, whatever Mr. Stark had given him had worked. Peter frowned when he realized that he wasn't in the guest room that Mr. Stark had set him up in last night. He felt his face redden when he remembered the nightmare, Mr. Stark coming in, and the bed… Oh god, he had  _ cried _ in front Mr. Stark. But he still couldn't figure out how he'd gotten here, wherever  _ here _ was. After changing, Mr. Stark had helped him walk but then everything went dark.

 

The bed Peter was laying in was one of the most comfortable things he had ever felt, and the sheets appeared to be made of the same silky material as his pajamas. Looking around, Peter had to muffle the gasp that nearly escaped. The room was a split level, with the large bed, elevated on the upper floor. Marble steps led down to a sitting area with black leather chairs surrounding a glass coffee table. While Peter was certain the furniture cost more than his first year of college, it wasn't what had filled him with excitement and awe. Lining the walls of the sitting area were several different versions of Mr. Stark's Ironman suits behind glass. He was in Mr. Stark's bedroom. Peter had been afraid of sweating in Steve's bed yesterday, but this made his anxiety soar. 

 

One arm chair was out of place, it looked as though someone had dragged it up the stairs and positioned it near the bed. It was empty now, and a blanket was crumpled up on the floor beside it. A knock on the doorframe tore his attention from the chair, and  he was surprised to see Natasha leaning up against it.

 

“Hey  молодой паук, FRIDAY said you were awake. How are you feeling?” Her short red hair was wet like she had just gotten out of the shower, getting water droplets on the t-shirt of an old band Peter didn’t recognize. Seeing her in anything other than her suit was bizarre to him.

 

“Better, really. Uh, what time is it?” Peter looked around blearily, the sun looked as though it had risen awhile ago.

 

“A quarter after ten o'clock. Tony figured he should just let you sleep. Looks like you've got the best room in the place,” Natasha walked up the steps and slid into the chair sideways, letting her legs hang over the armrest.

 

“Yeah, I don't remember how I got here exactly,” Peter smiled slightly, running his hands through his hair to try and tame his bedhead.

 

“Tony said you passed out in the elevator, and he couldn't carry you as far as the other rooms.” She looked around before leaning toward Peter. “Don't tell him I said this, but it sounds like Tony needs to spend more time in the gym,” Natasha laughed, her smile making Peter's own creep onto his face.

 

“Natasha, can I ask you something?” Peter rolled over and propped himself up on his elbow, facing the former assassin.

 

“Of course.”

 

“Was Steve mad? You know, after I…” She smiled softly.

 

“No, but why don’t you ask him?” Natasha turned her head toward the door. “Come in, Steve.” 

 

Steve stepped inside, who had apparently been waiting for Natasha's cue. Before Peter could open his mouth, the super soldier had already started talking, reciting his apology as if he had rehearsed it a dozen times, but that didn't make it any less genuine.

 

“Peter, I’m so sorry.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck, and didn't even seem to want to look at Peter. “I should have listened to you, I didn’t know you were sick.” The super soldier's ashamed demeanor caught him off guard, and Peter pushed himself up into a sitting position.

 

“Why are you apologizing, I  _ puked _ on you, I-I-”

 

“It wasn’t your fault, kid. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard. Besides, I was covered in much worse during the war.” Peter let out a breath that he didn't realise he'd been holding, incredibly relieved that one of his idols didn't hate him. “You did good earlier, it was refreshing to see someone knock Nat on her butt.”

 

“Watch it Rogers,” Natasha smirked, “or I’ll make sure we’re partnered up again next time.” Peter laughed, he hoped he would be there to see that.

 

“Hey! Did the star spangled idiot fix things up, or are we gonna have to wait in the hall all day?” Someone called from the hall, Peter was pretty sure he recognized Clint's voice.

 

“It’s all good, come on in,” Natasha laughed from her chair.  Before Peter could comprehend what was happening, Clint, Wanda, Thor, and Mr. Stark filed in. Wanda was carrying a tray with some yogurt and a small bowl of strawberries, and set it on the glass coffee table. Everyone took a seat around it; except Mr. Stark, who settled against wall. His mentor looked rather haggard, the bags under this eyes and the death grip on his coffee giving him away.

 

“Don’t look at me kid, they all wanted to make sure you were okay. Say the word, and I’ll kick ‘em all out,” Mr. Stark said, leaning against the wall and taking a long drink.

 

“No, no, this is great,” Peter smiled and threw the covers off of himself. “Is that for me?” 

 

“Yeah, we weren't sure what you would be able to stomach so soon, so I made sure they kept it simple,” Natasha said, getting up from her chair and helping Peter to where everyone else was sitting. He hadn't asked for the help, but Peter was secretly grateful. Though his balance felt much better, he didn't completely trust it; the last thing Peter wanted was to trip and eat it in front of everyone. He was pretty sure Natasha sensed it too.

 

“Young Peter, when I arrived last night I heard you had fallen ill. How are you faring now?” Thor asked as Peter slid onto the couch next to him and grabbed the bowl of yogurt.

 

“Better, I think I'll be fine in a day or two. I'm still a little tired.”

 

“I heard you did very well yesterday, I wish I could have seen it.”

 

“I did alright, I-"

 

“Alright! The kid did a hell of a lot better than alright,” Clint laughed. “He knocked Nat down, with the flu no less.”

 

“It was very impressive,” Wanda added.

 

“And not going to be as easy next time,” Natasha griped, stealing one of Peter's strawberries with a spark in her eye.

 

“Next time? You mean, I get to come back and train again with you guys?” Peter couldn't believe it, his cheeks were starting to hurt from all the smiling but he didn't care. 

 

“That's right, every Friday, kid,” Mr. Stark said as he took another drink. Peter was pretty sure he was hiding a smile behind the mug. If he didn't still feel like shit, he would have jumped out of his chair, but he settled for nearly dropping his spoon instead. 

 

“Really?” 

 

“Yup, and next time I'm going to land more than a quarter of my punches, kid. Though I think, I'm still going to get whooped.” Clint said, and the room snickered. “Hey, all I'm saying is that we better look out when the kid is healthy, I'm getting the feeling we’ll all be in some serious trouble.” The room laughed in agreement.

 

Before long, the conversation had dissolved into friendly banter, others piping up and laughter breaking out several times. Peter was content to just listen and laugh along, still quite unable to comprehend that they had all come to see him. Mr. Stark also seemed happy to simply be a fly on the wall, listening to his teammates’ banter. Peter stole a glance at him and the man rolled his eyes in mock annoyance at the ruckus before smiling slightly. Peter popped a strawberry in his mouth and grinned back; for the first time since joining the team, Peter felt like he belonged.


End file.
